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Kel had courage but little experience. His hesitations were costly, and only the presence of the skrolin kept the enemy from overwhelming them. But many of the skrolin had already fallen. Alain could mark each one—who was wounded, who was dead. That awareness swelled to encompass the entire field marked by the skirmish as he fought to keep alive, to keep his companions alive, and to drive a path through their ranks to Adica. The Lady of Battles did not attend him here. He had no desire to kill; the thought of killing revolted him. But as he parried and struck, spared Kel a glancing blow and shoved a fallen skrolin out of harm’s way, the melee gained sharpness and clarity, an uncanny predictability, a slowing down of time and motion as though all the other participants had been caught in a spell.
The openings became obvious, the blows struck at him easy to counter. As a child he had so loved and dreamed about the frescoes that adorned the church walls:
The fall of the ancient city of Dariya to savage horsemen. The fateful battle of Auxelles, where Taillefer’s nephew and his men lost their lives but saved the empire. The glorious victory of the first King Henry against Quman invaders along the River Eldar, where his bastard grandson Conrad the Dragon charged his troop of cavalry straight into the midst of the terrible host of Quman riders, breaking their line and sending them scattering back to their own lands.
The field of battle became itself like one of those tapestries, not an undecipherable chaos but a painting in which each fighter was as transparent to him as if he had opened a window into that mind. He knew who was scared and who was hesitant, who new to war, who dangerous through experience or because she was coldblooded. He knew who was ready to run and who was prepared to die.
The warrior before him did not wish to fight; she wanted nothing to do with humans and had all along thought it unwise to trespass below ground. The other warrior, facing Kel, was young, ready to prove himself valiant, and fearful enough of humans that he had the advantage over Kel. Alain stepped in to knock away a spear thrust that Kel, attention caught by Beor’s tumbling on the ground, wasn’t prepared to meet. At the same time the experienced warrior swung her haft toward his head, but he caught the blow on his staff. He pushed the lower tip of his staff behind the leg of the younger one, and with a twist tripped the young one while striking the elder in the forehead. Both fell.
Kel exclaimed aloud. The enemy line was breaking. Freed of her guard, Adica ducked low and dashed away along the cavern wall, into shadow.
The woman below Alain struggled to get up. Alain placed the heel of his hand on the center of her chest to pin her to the ground. Her eyes widened: they flashed green, like jade, bright and penetrating. Sanglant had such eyes, startling with their gemlike intensity. He stared at her and she at him, he in wonder at her beauty and fierce heart, she in a puzzlement that expanded into surprise and respect. Without a word, Alain granted her passage to leave. She sprang up and retreated, dragging the stumbling youth with her. Rage tumbled, unhurt, out of the melee to take up her position beside Alain.
Beor hadn’t as much luck. White Feather struck him hard in the shoulder, rocking him back, and jumped to his feet, calling out in a voice that reverberated through the chamber. His warriors, some still struggling and some in retreat, formed up into a stout line with their wounded at the rear.
Where was Adica?
The skrolin, many of them leaking a greenish-tinged blood, waited in an eerie silence, as though they would not, or could not, speak. Alain sensed, then, that they were biding their time, delaying their enemy. Waiting—but for what?
Beor got to his feet, slipped on his own blood, and staggered back to stand beside Kel. Adica broke free seemingly from out of nowhere and tumbled over corpses to reach their side.
With angry cries, the masked warriors charged the four humans and the remaining half-dozen skrolin. That quickly, the skirmish dissolved into confusion again. With bound hands Adica grabbed for, and dropped, a spear fallen to the ground. A second time she got her fingers around it and lifted it just in time to clumsily parry a blow. A sword stroke hit Kel’s back as he turned in the wrong direction in confusion, but the wood frame of the pack protected him. The leather sacking sagged, sliced open by the blow, and provisions spilled out. One warrior slipped on dried fish, falling hard. But the rest pressed forward under White Feather’s command, seeking Adica. Kel fell back, unable to hold his own, and slammed into Adica, who stumbled. Half bent over, Beor set about himself, still a threat despite his wound.
Where had that clarity gone, that had made of the battle a brightly woven tapestry? It had seemed so easy before, for those brief moments drawn out like thread into an unbroken present. Now Alain was barely able to block a blow thrown at Adica’s head by the white-crested warrior as the captain’s sword cut into and hung up in his oak staff. Sorrow was missing, and Rage had dashed out of his sight again. Claws scraped at his calves. Maybe it was possible to die twice. The thought struck him more with astonishment than fear.
Then the world came apart.
Light failed between one breath and the next, drowning them in blinding darkness. The ground buckled and heaved beneath him. Kel shouted out in fear. Sound cracked like thunder in his ears. The earth splintered between his left foot and his right. He grabbed for Adica and dragged her backward but felt himself sliding forward on his knees toward a new chasm. Heat blasted up from black depths, unseen but felt as a narrow gulf of empty air blasted by a blistering wind. When he opened his mouth to shout a warning, the air scalded his tongue. He couldn’t hear his voice above the scream of the wind.
Teeth grabbed him. A jaw closed on his right foot. The hounds were trying to stop his slide. Adica scrabbled for purchase. A spear slid past him. Its cool length brushed past his calf and then tumbled away, and away, and away—it never hit bottom. It seemed an eternity he slid inexorably toward the chasm with Adica struggling upward beside him. His straining hand, trying to brace against the slick stone, scraped on the edge, and he was falling forward as his spare torch slid out of his belt, bumped back against him because of the force of that wind, and tumbled away.
A small hand caught his linen tunic, then his rope belt. A hundred hands swarmed him, poking and pinching everywhere as they hauled him back. He was helpless in their grip, his back scraping on the ground.
The hands released him, all but one, which searched his torso with wickedly sharp jabs. Its breath, made pungent by a sulfurous tang, tickled his face. Those claws scrabbled up his right arm and gave it a hard pinch, twisting the skin so he yelped. Blood welled where a claw had scraped through the skin. A cool pressure twisted onto his arm. At once, the hounds were all over him, licking and nosing him. The creature assaulting him had vanished.
“Adica?” His throat hurt, and his back ached. Utter darkness hemmed him in. He couldn’t hear anything except for the wind.
A lamp flared.
Adica lay beside him, looking half stunned.
Their enemy glared at them from the other side of the chasm, a dreadful fissure out of whose depths boiled that searing wind, which shot straight up toward the cavern’s hidden ceiling. The flame trembled and steadied as the captain sheltered it with a hand. Of the dozen warriors still able to fight, six had bows, which they had readied and nocked with arrows during the blackness. White Feather barked a command. Alain threw himself over Adica’s prone body. They shot.
None of the arrows made it across the fissure. The blast tore them away, spinning them up toward the ceiling, lost to sight.
“Hei! Hei!” shouted Kel, a call for help.
Alain jumped up, wiping the sting of the wind from his eyes. Beor and Kel clung to the edge of the fissure. Alain dragged them up. In a strange way, the blasting wind helped him. Beor had lost his torches, and his injured shoulder still bled, but he could walk. Kel’s slashed pack dangled dangerously. They hadn’t any weapons, but on the flat plateau between them and the bridge a few spears lay scattered. Kel hurried, limping, to gather them up as Alain knelt beside Adica, cutting the rope that bound her hands. Shaking her head and wincing, she got to her feet.
was Adica?
The skrolin, many of them leaking a greenish-tinged blood, waited in an eerie silence, as though they would not, or could not, speak. Alain sensed, then, that they were biding their time, delaying their enemy. Waiting—but for what?
Beor got to his feet, slipped on his own blood, and staggered back to stand beside Kel. Adica broke free seemingly from out of nowhere and tumbled over corpses to reach their side.
With angry cries, the masked warriors charged the four humans and the remaining half-dozen skrolin. That quickly, the skirmish dissolved into confusion again. With bound hands Adica grabbed for, and dropped, a spear fallen to the ground. A second time she got her fingers around it and lifted it just in time to clumsily parry a blow. A sword stroke hit Kel’s back as he turned in the wrong direction in confusion, but the wood frame of the pack protected him. The leather sacking sagged, sliced open by the blow, and provisions spilled out. One warrior slipped on dried fish, falling hard. But the rest pressed forward under White Feather’s command, seeking Adica. Kel fell back, unable to hold his own, and slammed into Adica, who stumbled. Half bent over, Beor set about himself, still a threat despite his wound.
Where had that clarity gone, that had made of the battle a brightly woven tapestry? It had seemed so easy before, for those brief moments drawn out like thread into an unbroken present. Now Alain was barely able to block a blow thrown at Adica’s head by the white-crested warrior as the captain’s sword cut into and hung up in his oak staff. Sorrow was missing, and Rage had dashed out of his sight again. Claws scraped at his calves. Maybe it was possible to die twice. The thought struck him more with astonishment than fear.
